A Christmas Carol
by illuminatachime
Summary: AU. Draco and Hermione (of course) dislike each other. When they meet in an alley between his wealthy neighborhood and her poor one, they accidentally form a bet from which their pride won't let them back down. Over the week before Christmas, they realize that the other isn't as different from them or as detestable as they thought...


Hermione Granger sat on the cold, wet doorstep outside of her parents' small apartment. She was seventeen years old, and wanted more than anything to get away from this place. There was poverty and crime, and the habit of stealing for survival infected _children _as young as five years old. It always seemed like her neighborhood had its own personal hovering dark cloud; looking up at the sky, this statement was again proven true. At least it wasn't raining.

She sighed, shifting her weight and hating how her jeans, stuck with ice, scraped against her skin. Digging a stick of lip balm out of her coat pocket, she applied it to her mouth, which was just starting to chap. It was November 30th, heading into December, and the only thing that would change around here was that it would get even _colder._

The door opened up from behind her and her mother, thin and pale, said, "Hermione? Dinner's ready; come inside." From her mother, Hermione had inherited brown hair; from her father, brown eyes. She was average-height and slim, good-looking, most of her friends and family said.

"I'll be in in a minute," Hermione replied, looking up and over her shoulder at her mum. "I'm just thinking."

Smiling, her mother shut the door, and Hermione listened for birds in the sky. There was one – a crow, she saw – that hovered portentously atop the apartment building across from hers; she studied it as it stared at her in return.

It seemed to say to her, 'You'll pull through. You always do.' But Hermione just shrugged. _I don't want this winter to be like last winter,_ she thought back at the bird. _I want to be able to give my family something more than a sweater or a bar of chocolate for Christmas. I want to celebrate New Year's with a good dinner. I want to be warm and feel safe._

Giving it a heavy look, Hermione sighed again, standing up and brushing off the back of her jeans. Her sneakers scraped against the cement as she stepped towards her front door; the dingy welcome mat that she wiped them on didn't even say 'welcome' anymore – not legibly.

Closing the door behind her, she ambled down the short hallway that led to the kitchen. Passing pictures of her and her family that were hung on the walls, her eyes zeroed in on a photo of them all, eight Christmases ago; the _one_ good, happy Christmas she remembered having. Her dad had gotten a raise at his new job, and she'd been given a puppy, which she named Marie. Hermione, being only nine years old at the time, loved and cared for her puppy more than she did her schoolwork. So, in May, when her father was laid off of that very same job, she cried very hard when Marie had to be given away – they simply couldn't take care of the puppy anymore.

Hermione closed her eyes, blocking out the image, and continued along the hall; shucking off her coat, she asked, "What's it tonight?"

"Vegetable soup," her father replied cheerily. Hermione had no idea how her parents could remain so pleasant when it was this cold – perhaps it was the fact that they didn't have much to worry about other than their jobs and their family.

Smiling, the seventeen-year-old sat down across from her mum, relaxing as the steam from her soup bowl hit her face. Her hands were beginning to warm up again; the fingerless gloves she always wore outside didn't do much for her fingers. Rubbing them along her legs, she said, "I think I'll go for a walk after dinner."

Her father slurped from his spoon. Chewing on a carrot, he said, "Be careful. There are some real creeps out there."

"You say that every time," Hermione replied, giving him a knowing look. "I'll look out for myself, as always."

She picked up her spoon.

* * *

Draco Malfoy sat in a warm, velvet-upholstered town car; his father's. He was almost eighteen years old and filthy stinking rich – a fact that he detested, because it was all anyone ever talked about when his family was brought up. The Malfoy Apothecary, a family business that had been passed down through generations, took care of all their monetary needs and then some. Draco didn't hate that he had money, no. He just wanted to be known as something _separate_ than a Malfoy – although he'd never break off from his family.

In his free time he played pool, did interviews, and courted starlets. Presently he was single, because every dull-minded, stick-thin Mary Jane that he feigned interest in would always make him wonder if he was sane. _Of course I'm sane,_ he'd often think. _I'm sane, and I'm wealthy. When has that ever happened?_

Although he seemed reasonable and witty, Draco's underlying hatred for everything ever was proving to be a bit of a problem. His mother constantly told him what a brat he was! _As if._

"Draco, I need you to be pleasant tonight. This gathering is paramount to our image," said his father, from the seat facing Draco. "We need to show that we can open up our home to the press. Maybe then they'll stop acting like we have a million secrets – the rumors are _dreadful."_

The seventeen-year-old scoffed. "Father," he replied. "We have a _billion_ secrets. Why lie about them? It just makes a-billion-and-one." Lucius Malfoy, a snide-looking man in his mid-forties, sneered back at his son, adjusting his walking stick – which had a silver snake's head as a handle – in his hands. It always seemed like the millionaire was posing, although there were (currently) no cameras around.

"Draco!" his mother hissed; she was sitting next to his father. Her name was Narcissa, and she had very strangely-dyed black and blonde hair. "Why can't you _ever_ behave? Just do what your father tells you to do." She rearranged her long coat over her skirt with a sour expression. Large, diamond drop earrings hung from her earlobes, swinging and touching her jaw every now and then. Draco stared at her.

"I didn't say I wasn't going to be pleasant," he retorted. "How would it look if I were _un_pleasant to guests?" Internally, he groaned. _This winter is going to be like every winter,_ he thought to himself. _Loads of useless gifts and parties, and my tiresome family. I can't believe I share blood with these people._

The car stopped, and the chauffeur was quick to open the door. Draco's father, then his mother, then Draco got out of the car and stood momentarily on the side of the street. Lucius's chin raised with pride as he surveyed the crowd outside their home; paparazzi and guests alike, everyone was dazzled by the Malfoys' arrival.

No one would have guessed that this privileged neighborhood, full of beautiful penthouses and boulevards, was right next to a more depleted neighborhood – what everyone called the _slums._

It was a cold winter night, maybe around seven o'clock, and Draco was glad he was wearing his black fur-collared coat – anything less, and he would've been cold. Of course, he followed the latest styles, which meant he wore a black fur hat and leather gloves, as well as a black tuxedo underneath the coat. He knew he looked gorgeous – the crowd was eating him up, asking him questions about the latest bachelorettes that had appeared on his arm.

He couldn't even remember any of their names. To the last question, he replied, "She's excellent, yes, she's very beautiful; I think I'd like to see her again." Er, who was he talking about? He hoped it wasn't someone distressing, like that one, Maggie the Model, that he'd taken to dinner last week.

Narcissa always picked the worst dates for him, but it was mandatory that he appeared on the market. Never mind his mother's obsession with being his matchmaker; Draco didn't want to look unwanted by beautiful women.

The party set off and he was blinded by camera flashes, then dinner came and he ate first course, second course, third course, and then dessert. Around the long, wide dining table in his ballroom sat the most prestigious of public figures – the editors of famous magazines and newspapers, fashion designers, businessmen, famous actors and actresses, and a few political figures. Draco cared for none of them.

When they were finished with their white truffles, the party guests and the Malfoys resumed their socializing. Drinks were served and a few went home with each other, Draco was flirted with by young and old women alike – and some men, he thought awkwardly.

By nine o'clock, he needed an escape. He felt too warm and his tie was too tight; excusing himself for a few minutes, he decided he'd like to take a walk. Draco was handed his coat, his hat, and his gloves, and out the door he went.

* * *

Hermione heard the sounds of a party coming from the wealthy neighborhood that sat next to her own. She'd wandered a ways away from her apartment, and she was freezing in her flimsy pea coat and wool hat, but she didn't turn back just yet.

Feeling like the Little Match Girl, she wandered towards the party – lights and laughter filtered through an alleyway, and Hermione chose to go through it. It was deserted, not eerie, just quiet. Licking her lips, she wondered, _I bet they're all warm and safe. Having a good four-course dinner right about now._

She didn't begrudge them that, but she did wish that they'd do more charitable things, like donating money to homeless shelters and other places that Hermione was a little too close to ending up in. Hermione herself could get by, but just barely.

She knew many of the names of the big-business people who lived in that neighborhood, and Hermione sometimes heard awful rumors about them. She didn't really believe any, they were too extraordinary and ludicrous, but sometimes she liked to imagine that they were true.

A shiver danced up her body as teeny-tiny snowflakes began to mist down, covering the entire street with a dust-like blanket. She was only halfway through the alleyway, moving slowly, but she could see the sky – grayish-blue and dark; there wasn't much moonlight tonight.

"Hello," said a voice that was startlingly close. Hermione squeaked and jumped three feet in the air, before turning to face the stranger. All she saw against the lights was a silhouette; tall, slender, probably male.

"W-Who…?" she asked, suddenly paranoid, fearing that this person might be a criminal. Her apartment had been broken into once, and it was the most violating thing that had ever happened to her. _But,_ she thought, gulping,_ there are more violating things that can happen…in a dark alley…shit, Hermione._ "I-I have no money," she said, throwing her hands up in fright.

"I don't _want_ your money," said the voice, slightly sarcastic. It turned out to be male; no woman's voice could be that deep unless she was doing something to her body. But it was smooth, practiced, like he'd spent a while in the social world. It sounded a lot like…

Backing up a few steps, Hermione was about to turn around and run the other direction, but something made her say, "Draco?" She felt foolish as he turned to the side; his profile was lit up and she could make out more of his appearance – his hair was blond, and his nose was straight and sharp, but not bad or pointy. His features were refined and he wore a fur-collared coat and a fur hat; he looked at her expectantly, and she realized she was staring.

"Who else, Granger?" he countered with a sneer.

"What do you want?" she forced out, keeping her distance. He didn't advance on her, but that didn't mean that he wouldn't. Suddenly she felt her skin crawling, and she recalled the first time they'd met; it'd been something a little like this.

They must've been six or seven, and it was a cool November night as her parents decided to take her to a nearby park. She played on the jungle gyms while her parents sat talking on a bench, and Hermione had taken their distraction as an opportunity to explore the area. Along the way, she'd met a seven-year-old Draco, who, of course, was brash and had insulted her bushy brown hair.

"Nothing," he replied nonchalantly, bringing her back to the present. "Can I not say hello?" he asked, if not shortly, shrugging again. There was something about his shrug that made him seem like the most careless person in the world, and Hermione wasn't sure if she liked that. Scratch that – it made her uneasy. "Maybe I just want company."

"Company," she repeated warily. Her eyes darted around them, at trash cans and wooden boards; things she might like to hit Draco with. Of

"Company," he said, nodding as if she were deaf. "At least, company different from that of the ridiculous partygoers that are currently flooding my home; they're so dreadfully boring."

Hermione swallowed. Their eyes met, and his looked black against his pale face. She was sure she was yellow from the light on his end of the alley. She asked, "Why are you having a party?"

"My parents enjoy the publicity," he replied, and his voice sounded testy. "I don't mind it, but they're being particularly annoying tonight. Obviously. So I went for a walk in the hopes that I might find a little more intelligent conversation."

Hermione's eyes widened. _I'm far more intelligent than you,_ she thought at him. _But I'd imagine you're pretty smart._ "What kind of intelligent conversation?" she asked in a bored tone.

"Nothing _bad,_" he reassured her sarcastically, trying not to smirk. "Just conversation that doesn't involve whoever I'm screwing."

"Well, I surely don't want to talk about that," Hermione retorted, wishing she'd run away before he could've talked to her. Her stomach was turning over. "In fact, I don't think I'd like to talk about anything at all with you. _This_ looks like a crime scene waiting to happen," she added, gesturing to their surroundings.

"I'm going to ignore how threatening that sounds and tell you that most parties end up being crime scenes." He quirked up one side of his mouth at that, and moved to lean against one wall of the alley – it belonged to an apartment building. "Murder, theft, kidnapping, drug-and-rape…it all happens."

"I know that," said Hermione. "And something will probably happen at _your_ party. Did I mention I don't want to talk to you?"

He chuckled darkly, looking towards the light. "If you didn't want to talk to me, Granger, you'd have left by now. It doesn't matter to me; you're not the conversation I was looking for."

"I was here first," she muttered, then instantly felt dumb as he laughed at her. Angrily, she said, "Do you always have to impose on everyone? Go back to your grand party! People will care about you there."

"It's not that big," he remarked. "It's just a social gathering for my father. Lucius Malfoy, head of the Malfoy Apothecary, millionaire asshole," said the boy. He scowled a little, but the expression vanished as soon as he looked at Hermione. "You've probably seen him; maybe even met him, if he bothered to notice you."

"I haven't met him," she replied in a small voice. She knew it; she was too poor for such a wealthy, powerful man to rest his eyes upon her. Then again, seeing the spawn that he'd produced, she didn't really want his attention anyway. "But I've seen him."

"Congratulations," he spat. Scowling, he fiddled with one of the buttons on his coat. Hermione's blood boiled at his attitude problem, but she couldn't deny the fact that she had an issue with him as well. _The difference between you and me, _she thought, _is that my intolerance is directed at you, solely. Your bad attitude is just ingrained into you._

"I don't know why the girls are obsessed with your…bachelorism," she said back to him, matching his frown. "I don't know how someone can be so invested in another person's life, when they don't even know that person, or how rotten he can be."

Draco snorted. "I don't care about any of them. They're all the same. And yet I continually choose to surround myself with them."

"They're interested in you," Hermione said, suddenly feeling awkward. "It would be rude not to talk to them."

"And it would be rude to dump them one after one until there's none left, but my mother forces me to try _all_ flavors and brands," he said snidely. "And let's not even begin to discuss _her."_

Unsure of what to say to that, Hermione got the impression that he didn't realize how much he was like the rest of the richer population. Pretentious, wealthy; snide. If boys were falling over her, she would've enjoyed it and indulged herself in finding the right match! And she'd _never_ say a word against her parents – Hermione loved them too much.

"I suppose I'll go back," he said after a moment, his tone still distasteful. It seemed that he'd put himself in an even worse mood. Snow was falling on him but he didn't seem to notice or even shiver; Hermione herself was really very cold. "I'm not being entertained."

"I'm sorry your experience away from your mansion of a home wasn't enticing enough," she replied icily, watching her breath create fog in the cold air. "Maybe when you go back you'll enjoy yourself a little. Talk to someone _intriguing."_

"There's so much you're probably never going to understand about rich life," he replied sarcastically. "You live in Peasantville," he supplied, turning to look at his own neighborhood. "It must definitely beat _Pleasantville."_

Hermione frowned. "It really doesn't," she replied coolly. "Not that I would know from experience, of course." Draco scoffed, and she was suddenly wishing that he could change into a normal teenager from a snooty rich teenager. "I bet you wouldn't last one day here," she hissed.

"Yeah? I bet _you_ wouldn't last one day _here,_" he retorted, pointing a thumb over his shoulder. His eyes were wide and stubborn as she stared him down, but she thought that it might be time for her to leave.

Hermione turned on her heel and left him alone in the alley; she thought for a moment that she might be overreacting, but she was cold and wanted to go home anyway. _Pleasantville and Peasantville,_ she thought to herself. _It seems to me he comes from _Un_pleasantville._

Then, as if he'd soured her own mood (which hadn't been much better than his, but at least she hadn't been flat about it), she thought that she might like to forget Draco Malfoy even existed. Surely she wouldn't be seeing him again, anyways.

_He called me a peasant. Indirectly, but he did._ She frowned again, shoving her hands deep into the pockets of her battered brown coat, and tried both to hurry along and not slip on the ice that caked the sidewalk.

* * *

He watched the brown-haired Hermione walk away from him, studying her ratty, holey jeans and her red knit cap. She was one of the 'beggars' his parents constantly complained about, although she did no begging. It was what she wore and who her family was that defined her, according to _his_ family. Apparently she had a different view, but she was entitled to her opinion. Jokingly, he thought that her clothing might go into style if it was worn on a runway.

Draco was beginning to get cold, and there was a mangy-looking cat lurking around the mouth of the alley on the side that Hermione had just exited. He'd thought that alley cats only existed in children's books. It gave a little snarl when he clicked his tongue at it. "Rude," he muttered, mouth turning down at the corners. Gazing after Granger at the empty mouth of the alleyway, his pride welled up inside him and he started off after her.

Rounding the corner and carefully avoiding the most-likely-disease-ridden alley cat, which hissed at him, Draco followed Hermione until he was almost five feet away from her before hissing, "Granger!"

She jumped, having not heard him, and turned around to face him. "What?" she snapped back hotly. "Why are you following me?"

"You bet me," he said, his tone harsh. Crossing his arms, he continued, "And I bet you." He glared at her, looking grouchy like a cat that had been splashed with water, and Hermione rolled her eyes.

"I didn't mean an actual bet," she replied testily. "Why on earth would I want to spend a consecutive day with _you?"_

"Maybe it's because you're in _love_ with me," he retorted. "Don't be silly, Granger. A bet is a bet."

Hermione let out a strangled groan, then said, "Go _away,_ Draco Malfoy. Nobody wants you here. You yourself don't even want to be here."

"Think you can't handle a couple days teaching each other about the _wonders_ of our lives? Then admit that you've lost this bet," he challenged snidely, grinning a malicious grin. His pale, sharp features made him look like a villain, and Hermione believed it.

"Never!" she hissed. "…Fine," she said after a moment, agreeing to the actual bet, then immediately wished she had not. Braving her feelings of contempt, she went on, "When would you like to settle this?"

"This will never be settled," Draco hissed. "But I'd be _glad_ to do this…oh, how about the twenty-first of December? You 'bet' first, so you can go first." His eyes darkened as he realized what a bad idea this had been. _I shouldn't get so proud so quickly._

"And then the next day it'll be you with the twenty-second?" Hermione wasn't even sure why she was going along with this, but he'd made her so _angry._ What better way to teach him not to be so pretentious than showing him how he _could_ be living his life?

"Fine," he said. "It'll start in three days, you know."

"I'm aware," she replied.

"See you then," he snapped, his eyes dark and harsh. His lip was curled in something like disgust, but he didn't turn around and leave. His hair grew just beyond where the edge of his cap reached, and small bits of that white-blond hair rose and fell in the slight, nippy breeze. Hermione's eyes focused on this; she had no idea why, but for the first time she noticed the oddities of his complexion – pale face, pale hair; dark eyes. His dark clothing made the contrast even more blinding. Draco looked like a pixie king, with his sharp, arresting features.

_Even without your money, _Hermione thought at him, _you'd be popular. You'd still have girls throwing themselves at you; guys too._ Shaking her head as if she couldn't imagine why anyone would want to involve themselves with him after just a minute of listening to Draco chat, Hermione swallowed. "See you then," she said just as coldly, and shivered as if her tone had chilled her more than the frosty air.

For what seemed like the thousandth time in her life, although it was only the second tonight, Hermione turned away from Draco, briskly walking towards the people who _welcomed_ her.

"Bye," Draco called curtly from behind her, but she didn't acknowledge him. If he followed her further, she'd ignore him; she doubted, however, that he'd risk coming into this mangy neighborhood before their bet – before he _had_ to.

_In fact,_ she thought,_ I wouldn't be surprised if he begged not to come after all._ Wondering vaguely how they would meet up on those two already-terrible days, she decided that she'd just show up at his house. He wouldn't say no, would he? His pride would force him to come along. She smirked a smirk worthy of Draco himself.

He watched her walk away again, and after a moment, turned on his own heel and went in the opposite direction, from which he'd come. Edging around the growling trashcan in the alley, he made his way back towards the bright lights and pleasant smells; the shiny cars and fur-clad guests roaming the streets. Often times a pickpocket would work his way through them, but none could get to the end of the street without being caught – by either a body guard or one of the higher-ups themselves.

_I'll have to dress Granger in something acceptable,_ he thought. _Otherwise she'd be thrown away like trash. How embarrassing for me, to be seen with what the public eye views as 'trash.'_ He groaned inwardly. "A girl after my own pride," he muttered darkly.

"Mister Draco, your coat, please," said one of the attendants that manned the entrance to his home. Draco shrugged out of his jet-black coat, plastering a casual half-smile on his face and grabbing a glass of champagne off of a nearby platter; no one would oppose this. No one would dare challenge the only son of the great, powerful Lucius Malfoy.

A pair of twins – models, he guessed – walked up to him almost immediately, and he grinned at them, bored already. "Hello, Draco," said one, in a thick French accent. "I'm Flora." She extended her hand, probably expecting him to kiss it, but he just shook it once, firmly as was polite. Her skin was dark, like coffee with creamer.

"And you must be Fauna?" he asked her sister, smiling playfully. The girl laughed, shaking her head, which let her ironed-straight, dark brown hair to move, exposing triangular earrings covered in diamonds.

"Nadia," she corrected casually, curling one of her lips into a seductive smile. "We're enjoying the party," she added, linking arms with the girl identical to herself. They were dressed in the same outfit except in different colors; Nadia in a dusty, rose-colored dress that had no straps or form-fitting shape; instead, it had a simple diamond cluster at the waist on her right side, drawing in the fabric to reveal a tiny waist and create beautiful drapery across her lower abdomen.

Flora's dress, on the other hand, was a light green – not neon, softer; and she smiled pleasantly back at Draco as he turned to face her. "Well, Flora and Nadia, I'm glad you're having a good time," he lied, hoping his tone wasn't too fake. "But I'm wondering – why don't you have anything to drink?" His voice raised towards the end, and almost _magically,_ one of the wait staff popped up at his elbow with a tray that carried two glasses of champagne. Flora and Nadia took the drinks, nodding to the waitress. "That's better," Draco said. "Now, why don't we go somewhere more private?"

The twins' faces lit up, and he set his own champagne glass down to offer his arms before leading the sisters into the parlor, where only a few people were mingling. Draco appraised the other guests with his eyes, before deciding that none of them were reporters who would flock over to him and be the catalyst to a strained chain of rumors about him having a threesome with these two; or dumping one for the other and finding himself caught in a love triangle.

Media these days.

"I've noticed your lovely dresses," he commented as they sat down around a small coffee table. The girls murmured thank-yous, and he pressed on: "And I was wondering if you could help me, ah…make a _selection._ Just a dress, nothing too fancy. I'm no good at picking out clothing for women."

"Is this a special girl?" Nadia asked, her eyebrows raised in interest. She clearly wasn't looking to get in Draco's pants tonight. But Flora's face, on the other hand, fell dramatically, and Draco suspected that she might be an actress rather than a model. He didn't know their last name, so there was no way of telling who their daddy was, or how important.

He shook his head. "No," he affirmed, rubbing his lip thoughtfully. "I wouldn't even consider her a friend; more of a detestable acquaintance."

"Then why on earth would you want to buy a dress for her?" Flora chimed in, failing to mask the bitterness in her tone. "It's like in the movies – you don't buy a dress for a woman unless you're serious about her. Or a douchebag," she added thoughtfully, and Draco pretended not to notice the implication. Nadia elbowed her.

"Well," he replied, smiling coldly at her. "I'm neither, unless you'd count 'serious about winning a bet.' And no, it's not one of those terrible bets about whether I or one of my cronies can get in her pants first, like it is in the movies," he shot back at Flora, mocking her. Her mouth fell open, but thank _heavens_ no sound came out of it.

"We might be interested," Nadia said, swirling the champagne in her glass as she pondered the proposition. "When would we do this shopping?"

"Anytime within the next three days," Draco said smoothly. "I'm seeing her this Friday, but we'll be together on Saturday as well, and that's when she'll wear the dress. Not to an event or anything – just simply walking around and having tea, I suppose."

"Sounds like a date to me," muttered Flora. Draco ignored her.

_Don't go into too much detail, Draco,_ he said to himself. _You have no idea who these girls are and being followed around by paparazzi on a day you're being forced to spend with _Granger_ isn't good for your image._

Nadia nodded finally, smiling and raising her brown, doe-like eyes to Draco's. "I'll do it," she said. Flora grouched a little, but went along with it too. _That was surprisingly easy,_ Draco thought, shrugging and thanking the twins.

* * *

Hermione, at home, sat in her small, cramped bedroom, which was full of books and stray socks that never seemed to find their mate. Sprawled back against her bed, reading about the Roman gods, her mind wandered back to her 'bet' with Draco.

_I can't believe I got pulled into this,_ she chastised herself. _He's just manipulating you, like he manipulates everybody. I bet he's manipulating someone right now. _Closing her book and tossing it towards the foot of her bed, Hermione frowned up at the ceiling. She still wore her coat, because it was warm and comfy. Of all the things she had going on, Draco was the least worrisome, but the most present in her mind.

She sighed. "I'm never going to get anything done like this," she murmured. "Might as well take advantage…" Pulling a pen and a piece of paper from her desk, she balanced the paper on her thigh and began to write, making a list of the daily activities in which she took part. After a minute of writing 'walking' over and over again, Hermione harrumphed and set the pen back on her desk. Leaning back against her pillow, she stared at the piece of paper until it felt like it was blinding her, and then threw it away, too.

_I suppose I'll just take him on a stroll through the neighborhood, then,_ she thought. _That's what I always do. It's depressing enough, I imagine. I bet he wouldn't last five minutes. _An amused smile came to her lips as she thought of Draco asking where all the coffee shops were, after freezing his ass off for a few minutes.

Then there came a knock at her door: "Hermione?" her father's voice called softly from the other side. Hermione jumped up, straightening her coat before opening the door.

"Yes, daddy?" she asked, matching his soft tone.

"What do you want for Christmas?"

Hermione blinked,then shook her head. "I honestly want nothing," she replied. "Really, it's okay. I'd rather just spend the day with you guys."

"Hermione," her father breathed, a solemn look taking over his pale face. "I know money's tight, but don't doubt for a second that I'm going to wimp out on getting my little girl a Christmas gift. I've already got your mother's, and I know I can't get very _many_ presents, but…"

"Something that has to do with music, then," Hermione said weakly, trying to smile. "Even just a kazoo or something."

Her father hesitated, but then nodded, giving a small grin. "Something musical," he said. "Okay." Stepping forward to plant a kiss on her forehead, he added, "I love you."

"I love you too," she said back. "And just so you know, I've already got your present, too." Winking, she shut the door before he could ask any more questions.

Once she'd heard his footsteps go down the hall, Hermione sank against her door and held her face in her hands. It was true; she'd found an old collection of classic books tucked deep into the heart of a secondhand bookstore and taken it. The books were hidden neatly under a few pairs of old shoes, stuffed into her closet. They were in pretty good shape; he'd enjoy them.

For her mother, Hermione had gotten a necklace. It was on a golden chain, with a golden egg as the pendant. There was a small pearl to one side of the egg; not attached to the egg, but dangling from its own small hook. A small, round bit of cubic zirconia was on the other side of the egg, attached in the same fashion as the pearl. It was a simple gift, but Hermione knew her mother would wear it every day.

_But me, I really don't need _anything._ All I want is some good food and a warm blanket on Christmas. And Mom and Dad,_ Hermione thought, rubbing her closed eyelids.

Before it was even ten o'clock at night, Hermione drifted into a heavy slumber without wake.

* * *

The next day, Draco stood in the shopping mall closest to his home. Nadia and Flora, of course, had gone straight to their favorite store. Draco didn't care about the prices; it just had to look like it was _worth_ something.

He stood around casually, sometimes lounging on chairs set out in tasteful arrangement, waiting and watching the dark-skinned twins prance around the shop, laughing and asking him if he liked _this_ certain piece, or _that._ He considered a ruffly blue dress, made out of satin, with leaf-like sleeves and a skirt that stopped just above the knees, but it looked too much like something he'd buy for his girlfriend; naturally, he said no to it.

_Oh god,_ he thought._ What if the press – or my _parents_ – think that Granger's some sort of date? _He grimaced, then turned away from the dress, trailing after the two girls as they spotted a simple, metallic, ruby-red shift dress, and stared in wonder as they picked up the long-sleeved frock; it was basic – it didn't cling to the body, so it'd be modest enough for Granger, and it wouldn't be creepy for him to insist she wear it. The neckline was appropriate; stopping just below the clavicle.

"This'll do," Draco murmured as the twins held the dress up to him. He took it in his own hands, holding it away from himself for inspection. "Yes," he continued, imagining Granger wearing the dress. Her surprised, annoyed face as he requested she wear it, and then her trying to hide how much she actually enjoyed the dress. He smirked for a fraction of a second, and then said, under his breath, "It's perfect."


End file.
